


Hold My Hand 'Til Dawn

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ardyn is an obnoxious asshole but not a villain, F/F, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Sane Ardyn, Slice of Life, The Galahdian kids have it rough, but they'll get through it, more characters and pairings to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-28 15:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13274058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: In which Noctis has two dads, Prompto has two moms, Regis and Clarus are doting grandfathers, and the Kingsglaive are a ragtag collection of baristas and bartenders who serve as aunts, uncles and babysitters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo... This started as a bunny about dad!Gladio, and then stuff got a little out of control. Anyone who knows me from the Hetalia fandom knows that fluffy family fics are my jam, so this shouldn't be a surprise.
> 
> Modern AU - no war, no monarchy, no Starscourge - I am, however, leaving it set in Eos and Insomnia, because it just works a bit better.

Noctis and Prompto met sometime at the beginning of the year in kindergarten, but Prompto doesn't remember exactly when. Noctis has always been quiet, and a little bit boring. He doesn't talk much, and he doesn't play with the other kids at recess. Prompto does know that he first really noticed Noctis months later, when the class is making Mother's Day cards.

Everyone else is talking, laughing, reaching over each other to grab for construction paper and stickers and glitter glue. Noctis is sitting by himself all the way at the end of one of the long tables, shoulders a little hunched and staring down at the blank piece of pink paper in front of him. Prompto watches him for a minute, then gets up to go over to him. 

(Years later, he still can't put a finger on why he did it. Curiosity, probably, and something about Noctis' posture that even six-year-old Prompto recognized as bewildered sadness.) 

"Hi!" he says, and Noctis looks up in surprise. 

"Um, hi?" 

Acknowledged, Prompto grins and plops down to sit beside him, poking at the blank paper in front of Noctis. "Aren't you going to make a card?" 

"I can't, I don't have a mom. I have two dads instead." Noctis' brow furrows a little, mouth pulling down at the corners and chin jutting out, daring Prompto to make an issue of it. 

Instead, Prompto beams and grabs a tube of glitter glue at random to hold it out to Noctis. "Great, you can help me! I have two moms, so I have to make two cards." 

Noctis stares at him, waiting for Prompto to say he's kidding. After a moment, when he doesn't, Noctis smiles shyly and reaches out to take the offering. "Ok." 

(After that, they're inseparable.) 

~*~

Aranea never set out to be anyone's mom. 

She wasn't opposed to the idea, it was just never something she'd thought about much. It was abstract, something that might happen someday, but not something she's planning for or actively working toward. 

And then her car broke down. 

After cursing a blue streak and indulging herself in a very brief temper tantrum, she grumpily looked up the phone number of the nearest mechanic. The voice that answered the phone was surprisingly bright, clear and feminine with a drawling accent from far to the west. 

When Cindy actually showed up, hopping down out of her monstrous tow truck like a valkyrie dismounting her steed, wearing low-slung, oil-stained jeans and a battered t-shirt with a cartoon chocobo on it, Aranea thought she might be falling in love. 

"Let's get ya hooked up and taken back to the garage, then we'll see what we can do for ya." Cindy's accent was even warmer in person, her smile sincere and infectious, and Aranea felt her cheeks going warm. She followed along like a duckling, struck unusually dumb, and once Cindy had her car ready to go she and Aranea rode together in the tow truck's cab. There was a Moogle-shaped air freshner, and it smelled like vanilla. 

The ride wasn't very long, but it took Aranea most of it to realize she was staring at Cindy's hands, long fingers wrapped confidently around the steering wheel, fingernails neatly trimmed and rimmed in black grease. 

"You're a quiet one, ain't ya?" Cindy gave her a bemused look as they parked, and Aranea swallowed. Cindy must have read something on her face, because her smile turned more mischievous, wicked, and she leaned across the space between them to peck a quick, chapped kiss to the corner of Aranea's mouth. "You're awful cute too, I might be persuaded to give you a discount." 

Aranea's students probably would have been shocked to see her so speechless. It took her a moment too long to form any sort of response, and Cindy had already slid out of the cab and gone around to unhook Aranea's car. "You can wait inside!" Cindy called when Aranea finally got herself together and got out of the tow truck. "Help yourself to the coffee and tea on the counter, and don't mind Pawpaw, I promise he doesn't bite." 

So Aranea was half expecting some sort of pet dog when she stepped inside the mechanic's shop. Instead, there was an old man lounging behind the counter, his worn and tattered work boots propped up on it. His head was tipped back, bristly gray hair poking out from under the hat tipped over his eyes, snoring softly. Aranea cocked her head, amused, and glanced back outside at the neon sign by the driveway. "Cid of Cid's Auto, I presume?" she murmured, though not loud enough to actually wake the old man. Cindy clearly had the business well in hand. 

A rustle down at floor level made her think maybe there was a dog after all, but then a little boy poked his head around the edge of the desk, watching her with wide blue eyes. His hair was cut short and a little haphazard, blond as a chocobo's feathers and with a smattering of freckles across his nose. Aranea blinked. The boy blinked back. "Hi." 

"Hi," Aranea felt herself smiling, crouching down so she wasn't looming over the boy. "Is it okay if I wait in here? Your mom is working on my car." She didn't even have to stop and think about that one, the resemblance was way too strong, and the age difference way too large for Cindy to plausibly be his sister. The little boy looked like he was maybe four or five at the most. 

He nodded, confirming that Cindy was his mother, and motioned for Aranea to lean in closer. Heart melting, she did, and the boy leaned in close to whisper, "Don't wake up Pawpaw." He gave her a serious look, like he was imparting life-saving intelligence, and Aranea muffled a laugh and nodded. 

"My name's Aranea," she whispered back, settling to sit properly on the floor. "What's yours?" 

"Prompto." He broke into a wide grin. "Do you wanna play with me?" 

"Of course. I think I might be here awhile." 

It was almost an hour before Cindy got to a place where she was pretty sure she knew what was wrong with the car. She grabbed a rag to wipe off her hands as she walked over to push open the door to the waiting area, belatedly hoping Cid and Prompto weren't harassing her clients again. 

Instead, Cid was still snoring behind the desk, and Prompto and Aranea were both stretched out on the dusty carpet, Prompto's collection of markers spread out around them as they drew on the pads of scrap paper Cindy kept around for this exact purpose. Craning her neck, Cindy could see that Prompto was drawing cars (as usual), and it looked like Aranea was doodling a chocobo, complete with a speech bubble reading 'WARK!' in fancy script. 

Aranea said something, and Prompto laughed, happy and at ease. Cindy felt her heart skip a beat. 

(Aranea never leaves.) 

~*~

If you trace it all the way backward, through all the paperwork and musings and serious conversations, Noctis is Ardyn's fault. 

Ignis had never seriously considered whether or not he might want children someday. He'd always known he was gay, and his objective, logical brain had always known that for him, children would be a conscious choice with a lot of planning, not an accident or something left to the will of the Astrals, and so he set the thought aside. Children would come after many other things on his mental checklist, and so it wasn't worth thinking about before the boxes were ticked. 

Of course, that was before he started dating Gladio. 

And Gladio, sweet, gruff, occasionally infuriating, and studying to be a _teacher_ of all things, Gladio wanted kids. It wasn't something they talked about, because Ignis was twenty-one and Gladio was twenty and there was school to deal with and who knew how long the relationship would last, anyway? But it was there, in the way Gladio waved at kids they passed on the street and gushed about his younger sister. It wasn't that Ignis _disliked_ kids either, he'd just never had much of a chance to be around them before, never seriously given it any thought. 

And then, five months into their relationship, Gladio invited Ignis to have dinner with his family. Ignis tipped his head forward, peering at Gladio over the top of his glasses and watching him shift from foot to foot with uncharacteristic nerves. "Alright," he said. 

"You don't have to," Gladio blurted, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. "My dads can be a little... much and my sister will be there and probably my uncle-" 

Ignis leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth to shut him up, enjoying the blush that spread across the bridge of Gladio's nose. "Alright," he repeated, more firmly. "But you know I don't... Family dinners are a bit out of my depth." 

Gladio laughed a little in helpless relief and looped an arm around Ignis' shoulders to pull him in close. "It's not something you can study for, Iggy. Just be yourself. And Iris will be there, she can run interferance if we need it." 

Ignis had met Iris a time or two by that point, and liked her. The afternoon of the dinner, he did not call her in a nervous panic, because he was not a child. He texted her, instead, staring at his closet in despair. 

_'holy shiva why are you asking me what to wear just wear whatev gladi likes????'_

Ignis laughed a little helplessly, hesitantly pulling out a dark blue shirt to hold up while he texted her back with his other hand. _'Sorry I don't want to worry him, but I also don't want to offend your fathers.'_

The answer came back almost instantly. _'iggy you are adorable and a Responsible Adult. dad & papa will love you because gladi loves you'_

Ignis dropped his phone, heat flooding his cheeks, and as he stared down at it, it chimed again and lit up. 

_'oops was that too soon? ;p see you 2nite!'_

Iris was a brat. Ignis decided he _definitely_ liked her. In the end, he went with his usual dark, fashionably cut jeans and a neat black button-up with a subtle silver pinstripe to it. He considered a tie or a jacket, but Iris and Gladio had both encouraged him to 'be himself', and they knew their fathers best. 

Gladio lived in a studio apartment close to the university, but his family home was in a _very_ nice part of town. Both of his fathers did something-or-other fairly high up in the city government, and they'd had enough funds to adopt two children ten years ago almost on a whim, to hear Gladio tell it. It was intimidating to think of, so Ignis tried not to as he climbed up the wide stone steps and rang the bell. 

To his vast relief, it was Iris who flung the door open and beamed at him, bouncing over to latch onto his arm with surprising strength for a fourteen-year-old. "Hi! You look fine, I promise, everyone's waiting to meet you!" She drug him down the hall, barely giving him a chance to notice the richness of the decor and not enough time to be intimidated by it before she opened a door and pulled him in with a flourish. "Ignis is here!" 

Ignis found himself suddenly the center of attention, whatever conversation had been going on was stopped dead. Gladio was perched on the edge of a couch, and jumped up immediately at Ignis' entrance, the look on his face one of sheer relief. Ignis found himself facing down the stares of three men, and clamped down on the urge to fidget from nerves. Instead, he did what he did best, turned on his analytical mind to try and glean what he could while the silence stretched. 

Two men were sitting on a wide couch together, their postures turned toward each other, one resting his hand with easy familiarity on the other's knee. They both had dark hair and neatly trimmed beards, one of them starting to thin a bit on top and the other going gray at the temples, and both of them were studying Ignis in return. The balding one was fairly stoic, eyes narrowed in what might have been suspicion, but the other just looked mildly thoughtful. Clearly, they were Regis and Clarus Amicitia, though Ignis didn't have enough information to make a guess about which was which. 

The third man was lounging in an over-stuffed easy chair, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He had reddish hair and a lanky build, peering at Ignis in open but lazy curiosity. Ignis remembered Gladio mentioning an uncle, right as Iris reached her limit on silence and burst, still wrapped around Ignis' arm. 

"Ignis, this is our papa and dad and Uncle Ardyn." 

Ignis felt a little more sturdy when Gladio came to stand on his other side, and flanked by both siblings he stepped forward and held out his hand to the men on the couch. "I'm pleased to be here, thank you for having me." 

"The pleasure is ours," the one with the thicker head of hair and the greying temples - "papa" - stood, reaching out to clasp Ignis' hand with a warm, sincere smile. "Please call me Regis." 

"Clarus," said Clarus, rising to his feet beside Regis and reaching to clasp Ignis' hand in turn. He nodded solemnly, and Ignis had the thought that maybe he wasn't the only one nervous about tonight's dinner. Oddly, it made him feel better. 

"And-" Regis half-turned, motioning behind them at the third man, still lounging. "For Astrals' sakes, get your feet off the table. This is Ardyn, my brother." 

" _Younger_ brother," Ardyn waved indolently, still watching Ignis with keen eyes, heels firmly on the table. "I live in the basement." He cocked his head, as though he was somehow reading Ignis' life story printed out on his forehead, and then he grinned, sharp white teeth against his scruff of a beard. "Looks like you'll have to rely on Iris for grandbabies, Reggie." 

And that, Ardyn's insolent comment and several different brands of indignant reaction, planted the first seed. 

That seed stayed, and it sprouted when Gladio asked Ignis, three years in and almost to graduation, if maybe he wanted to move in together. When, apartment hunting, they kept sneaking long looks at each other and settled on a two-bedroom without really talking about it. The second bedroom became an office, for now, but they both knew it could be _not_ an office. 

That seed flourished when, after graduation, Ignis used Regis' and Clarus' connections to get a very well-paying job at city hall and only felt a little guilty about it. He started putting part of his cheque away into a savings account, in case of emergencies, or in case they wanted to take a vacation, or in case of... other expenses. 

Gladio got a job too, as a literature teacher at a local high school. He talked about his students with such enthusiasm, even the ones who were troublesome. Maybe especially the ones who were troublesome. 

And then, just after their seven-year anniversary, Gladio came home unexpectedly and caught Ignis researching adoption processes. 

"You have spreadsheets," Gladio breathed, cupping his hands around Ignis' face and soothing thumbs along his cheeks. "You beautiful, neurotic man." 

"There's a power point too," Ignis murmured helplessly, cheeks flaming at the look of delight on Gladio's face. "Of all the reasons we should adopt, and all the best places to do it." 

"Show me," Gladio demanded, dropping into a seat beside him. He wrapped his arm tight around Ignis' waist and couldn't seem to stop grinning. As he opened up the files, Ignis realized that he was smiling too, Gladio's excitement was infectious. 

There was a lot of paperwork to be done, but six months later they brought home Noctis Scientia-Amicitia, aged thirteen months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a vague idea of where this may go, but for the most part it'll be fluffy vignettes with only loose plot.
> 
> Next time - Cor is the most reluctant dad of all, mostly because his 'kids' are all delinquent teenagers.


	2. Chapter 2

"Remind me," Cor Leonis deadpans to no one in particular, looking up from the reports on his desk, "Why I love my job?"

Two desks down, Gladiolus Amicitia snorts, equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Because we're making a positive impact on future generations," he deadpans back, and it's Cor's turn to snort. 

"I don't think positive impacts usually generate so much paperwork." 

Gladio cranes his neck to get a look at the pile of reports Cor's working over in red ink. He winces a bit when he realizes they're not book reports, they're _incident_ reports, and remembers that Cor has charge of after-school detention this month. It's a duty usually passed around between all the teachers, but Gladio's considering volunteering to take an extra turn. Some of his colleagues don't know how to handle troublemakers, either wringing their hands in useless anxiety or cracking down way too harshly (in Gladio's opinion). But from what he's seen, Cor's alright. He's firm, almost militant, but also fair. 

He actually punishes Lucian kids when he catches them doing things wrong, instead of pinning all the blame on the minority and immigrant kids, which Gladio has witnessed happening more than once. 

And, okay, maybe Gladio's a little biased. Ignis grew up in Tenebrae, and hearing him complain about the racist assholes he deals with on a daily basis who don't look past his green eyes and accent boils Gladio's blood. He and Iris are Lucian through and through, but they're the adopted children of gay parents, and twenty years ago when Gladio was in school that was far less common than it is now. He remembers the angry burn of unfair prejudice, having to swallow it back and pretend you didn't notice the adults were treating you differently, just because of who your parents are. 

Cor sees Gladio looking, and without fuss passes him the stack of papers. Gladio flips through them, frowning as he takes note of the students involved, and the teachers signing the reports. When he reaches the bottom of the stack he looks up, and sees his own unsettling conclusion reflected in Cor's eyes. 

"I think I'll volunteer to oversee detention period next month," he says with a casualness he doesn't feel, and Cor might actually almost smile as he accepts the pile of reports back. 

"I doubt anyone would have problems with that, no one ever _volunteers_ to watch over a bunch of uncooperative, rowdy troublemakers after the day is otherwise over." 

"I think that's part of the problem," Gladio starts, but before he can say more they both hear a ruckus starting up in the hall outside, sudden yelling and hooting and shouts. 

Gladio has a terrible premonition, and Cor's lips thin. They scrape their chairs back in unison and leave the teacher's office, stepping into a hallway where a fight is definitely underway somewhere off to their left. 

Someone catches sight of Cor and Gladio approaching and squeaks a warning. The crowd of teenagers parts in front of them, a few of the smarter ones on the fringes edging away to disappear into crosshalls. Cor is not known for his mercy in regards to punishment. 

Ahead, the hallway makes a right angle to turn toward the library, and cornered there Cor and Gladio find the usual suspects. Libertus Ostium, with his ready wit and hot blood, feet spread and fists clenched in preparation for a fight. Crowe Altius, eyes narrowed and pretty face drawn in a sneer, calculating eight different ways to eviscerate her opponents. Pelna Khara, always the quietest of the circle and the only one who doesn't look immediately ready to throw down, but standing solidarity with his shoulders squared, one hand hovering just behind Crowe as though preparing to hold her back. Luche Lazarus, eyes and tongue both as sharp as the knives he's rumored to carry, gaze flicking back and forth between potential targets, sizing them up. 

And in front of them all, arms spread to try and keep the two groups apart, absently licking blood from a split lip, Nyx Ulric. 

There are several boys standing opposite Nyx who look ready to jump into a fight, and it's not immediately obvious which of them punched Nyx. Cor sighs, loudly and deliberately, to break the tension, and several of them jump like scalded cats. 

"They started it!" One of the boys tries, his voice a high whine. 

"Luche started it," Nyx agrees before either of the adults can answer, and quirks a wry smile that tears his lip open again, blood welling before he licks it away. "I finished it." 

"Nyx," Crowe hisses from behind his shoulder, but Pelna grabs hold of her arm and Nyx shakes his head minutely, and she falls unwillingly quiet. 

"Well," Gladio says after a few seconds of silence have stretched. The looks he gets from students on both sides are wary. This is still Gladio's first year teaching at this school, no one knows where he stands yet, and everything he does still leaves an impression. Not like Cor, who's been teaching grade eleven and twelve maths forever (well, eight years, which in an inner-city high school is _forever_ ). He sees Luche and Libertus staring at him in open mistrust, Crowe's jaw still set in bitter anger, Pelna's quiet resignation. He sees the Lucian boys nudge each other and relax a little. Nyx's expression is calmer than his friends', but shuttered in a way that makes Gladio remember being fourteen with two black eyes, trying to explain to his fathers that he wasn't going to let the kids at school insult them. 

He thinks about the stack of incident reports on Cor's desk, overwhelmingly targeting kids from Tenebrae, from Accordo, from Galahd, kids with accents and customs and clothes that are Not Lucian, Not Insomnian. 

And he thinks about Ignis, who moved to Insomnia for university, who once told Gladio that he keeps his Tenebraen accent deliberately, through force of will, just for the satisfaction of using it to tell off racist coworkers. 

"Well," he repeats deliberately, staring down the Lucian bullies. "I doubt Mr. Ulric punched himself." 

A hush falls over the entire hall, and Gladio relishes the sudden looks of panic on the bullies' faces, just a little. At least they know where Gladio Amicitia stands, now. 

It doesn't change anything, not really. Most of the teachers still don't care, or actively take the Lucian side in any dispute. But the kids who need them learn that Cor and Gladio can be relied on to have their backs. They gather a few others, Monica in the music department who seems so straight-laced but has a sense of fair play and justice even stronger than Cor's (somehow) and old Jared, who's been teaching math even longer than Cor and grew up out in Leide and has a half-Accordan grandson that he absolutely adores. Between the four of them, they take over detention rotation completely, and no one else cares enough to do more than shrug. 

It starts almost as a joke, that detention is almost always four Galahdian teens (or five, but Pelna avoids detention as often as he gets it, because even the most racist old librarian has trouble accusing those big innocent eyes and that dopey smile). Other kids come and go, but Libertus, Crowe, Luche and Nyx are constant. 

"It's like the worst club," Crowe says one day with a wry shrug. 

"A club for picking fights and being in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Cor raises an eyebrow. 

"With ethnic braids!" Crowe nods with false cheer, flicking hers with her fingers so the metal beads at the ends chime together. Libertus laughs. 

"If this is a club, where's the perks?" 

"I did say it was the _worst_ club," she shrugs. 

And yet. 

(Near the end of the school year, Ignis comes home on a Friday afternoon and finds five teenagers lounging around his living room. Crowe, Nyx and Gladio have their heads together, bowed over their phones with the tell-tale chiming of Kings Knight. Luche is laying on the couch with a textbook, looking moody but determined. Pelna and Libertus are sitting cross-legged on the floor, with almost-two-year-old Noctis sitting on Pelna's lap and laughing hysterically as Libertus makes faces at him. Ignis stares in bewilderment, until Gladio finally looks up long enough to notice him. "Iggy! Uh. I might've mentioned you're a good cook.")


	3. Chapter 3

Over that first summer, the "club" becomes less of a joke.

With school out for the summer the teenagers are free to do as they please, and they roam together like a pack of young coeurls. None of them really want to hang around at home; Pelna has four younger siblings, Crowe's parents want more than anything to make their daughter into a Good Lucian Girl (by force, if necessary), Luche's father is an alcoholic, and Nyx doesn't have any at all. As a consequence, their only option is to cram into the Ostiums' tiny home, which already has all of Nyx's stuff shoved into Libertus' bedroom. 

Libertus' parents don't really _mind_. They're good people; exhibit A is the fact they brought Nyx with them when they moved to Insomnia rather than leaving him an orphan in Galahd. They truly believe that Lucis is full of hope and opportunity, and Libertus constantly finds himself caught between rolling his eyes and admiring their conviction, their determination. But it's not that easy. All of them still consider Galahd their home, and as much as Libertus loves his parents and knows that they did what they had to so they could take care of him and Nyx, he can't help but resent them for it. They never asked _him_ if he'd be okay moving, and Nyx only came because he'd probably starve if he didn't. 

The teenagers try not to impose on the Ostiums' too much. Their house is tiny for four people, let alone seven, and Mr. Ostium has a habit of going on long, rambling, embarrassing lectures about seizing the day and making the most of the opportunities they've been given. The Ostiums do their best to encourage the kids to stay out of trouble, to keep their heads down and learn what it means to be Lucian. 

They can't understand that being Lucian is the last thing the teenagers want. 

So they roam the streets, charming their way into Galahdian-friendly bars or hanging out at the coffee shop three blocks down from Pelna's place that serves an okay latte. Now and then, they deliberately look for trouble. 

Now and then, trouble deliberately comes looking for them. 

"Aw shit, Cor got here first, now I owe Crowe ten bucks." 

Cor narrows his eyes at Luche, who shrugs, less than intimidated. 

"It's almost midnight. On a Friday." Crowe snorts and nudges her foot against Luche's. "Gladio went to bed two hours ago and you're stupid." 

"Oh shit," Luche's face falls. "It's Friday?" 

"Been Friday all day," Libertus drawls, only a little slurred from the spectacular bruise spreading across his jaw. 

Cor presses his lips together firmly to keep himself from swearing, surveying the five idiots sitting in the Crownsguard holding cell. Pelna is in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest and eyes closed, pretending he's anywhere but here, or trying not to be sick, or possibly both. Libertus is sitting with his arm curled protectively around Crowe, and she's tolerating it for the sake of keeping an eye on his possibly concussed ass. She and Pelna and Luche seem unhurt, but Libertus has bruises darkening on his cheek and jaw and unevenly dilated pupils, and Nyx is sitting carefully upright, one eye swollen nearly shut. 

"...Alright," Cor says finally. "What happened, and why did you call me instead of your families?" 

"Better than average chance dad's drunk." 

"My parents wouldn't have bail money for me, let alone these idiots." 

"We tried calling Gladio but _apparently_ he's in bed." 

"With Ignis, duh. It's _Friday_." 

"Ooooooh..." 

"You're all drunk," Cor pinches the bridge of his nose, appealing to Bahamut for patience. "Underage and drunk and in prison." 

"Some guys tried to grab Crowe!" Libertus bangs his fist against the wall, face twisted into a pained snarl. "And you didn't hear the things they were sayin'." 

"I had it handled. I think. But thanks for the intervention." Crowe pats his shoulder consolingly. 

"And then Luche pulled his knives," Pelna frowns accusingly. 

"I didn't hurt anyone!" Luche frowns back at him, defensive. "They had Nyx and Lib surrounded! It got them to back off, didn't it?" 

"Yeah, except you still had them out when the Crownsguard showed up." Crowe stretches her foot out enough to nudge Luche again while still remaining Libertus' security blanket. "Right at the moment you yelled 'Come and get some, Lucian fuckers' at the top of your lungs." 

Cor rubs a hand over his eyes, wondering if Gladio would forgive him for interrupting Friday Night if he calls for back-up. "Sit tight, I'm going to go get you released. Nyx, how are your ribs?" 

Nyx shoots him an unreadable look, then shrugs carefully. "Just bruised." 

"Fine," Cor turns on his heel. "Try not to piss anyone else off before I get back." 

After some very careful negotiations and some veiled accusations of racial profiling to get the charges dropped, that's how Cor ends up with five teenagers sleeping in his apartment. Nyx gets Cor's bed by default on account of bruised ribs, and Crowe just rolls her eyes when they try to give her the couch and pushes Libertus onto it. She and Cor end up sitting up with Libertus half the night waiting for his concussion to clear, playing cards and making fun of Luche snoring in the corner. 

In the morning, Cor fries an entire carton of eggs and makes them all coffee, which is about the limit of his culinary expertise. As the teenagers sit around nursing hangovers and avoiding calling their families, he finally manages to pry a more complete story out of them. 

"Okay," he sighs when they've finally finished talking over and correcting each other. "I don't agree with you wandering around the underbelly of Insomnia looking for fights, especially when it sounds like you guys have no idea how to fight." 

Libertus puffs out his cheeks in indignation, then winces at his healing bruises. "Where're we supposed to go then, huh?" 

"Here," Cor shrugs and hopes he doesn't come to regret that split-second decision. "Or Gladio's. Noctis adores you, Bahamut knows why, and Ignis doesn't mind you as long as you clean up after yourselves. Or..." Another thought occurs to him and he pauses for long enough that Nyx reaches over to poke his shoulder. 

"Or what?" 

"Or we can kill two birds with one stone." Cor digs out his phone, ignoring their questions as he scrolls through the contacts. He'd never gotten around to deleting her number, but at least it'll come in handy now. He listens to the phone ring, meeting the teenagers' curious stares with an impassive one of his own. "Hello? This is Cor. ...Yes, that Cor, how many do you know? ...No, I didn't know you were dating someone, I'm very happy for you. I- What? No. I'm wondering if you have space for five bratty teenagers at your dojo." 

Pelna looks a little apprehensive at that, but the others nudge each other in excitement until Libertus gets a little too enthusiastic and Nyx hisses at him to watch his ribs. None of them have anything better to do, so later that day Cor leads them to the nondescript little building not too far from the school. There must not be any classes going on, because all is quiet as they push open the door and troop inside. 

"Aranea?" Cor raises his voice, but the only answer they get is a small blond head peeking around a doorway at them. Very small. Cor stares, and the child stares back. "...We're looking for Aranea Highwind." 

"'Nea's in the bathroom." The kid says, staring around at all the scruffy, dusty people filling the small reception area. "Are you Cor?" 

"...Yes," says Cor. This is feeling more and more surreal, because the last time he'd checked, which admittedly had been several years ago, Aranea had been very far down on his list of 'people to trust with small children'. 

The child's eyes widen, freckled face breaking out into a delighted grin as he points at Cor. "Motherfucker!" 

Crowe and Libertus break out into cackling laughter, and Nyx has to hold his breath to keep from hurting his ribs further. Luche snickers, and even Pelna cracks a smile as he crouches down to offer his hands to the child. "That's not nice to call someone you just met." 

"That's what 'Nea said when he called!" The child defends himself, but edges a little further into the doorway, apparently more at ease now that they're all laughing and smiling. "Are you new students for 'Nea?" 

"Maybe," Pelna hedges. "I'm Pelna, and these are my friends. Are you the teacher here?" 

The boy giggles and shakes his head. "I'm Prompto. 'Nea's watching me while Mom and Pawpaw take a junker to Hammerhead." He pouts. "I wanted to go too but Mom says 'm not old enough yet." 

"Soon, kiddo," says Aranea, sweeping through the doorway and scooping Prompto up to balance him against her hip. He giggles happily and grabs for her shoulder to hold on. She cocks an eyebrow at Cor, eyes sweeping over the group. Crowe meets her gaze squarely, and Luche and Libertus both straighten up involuntarily. Aranea's lips quirk upward. "Fallen in with a bad crowd, Leonis?" 

"Hey-!" 

Aranea holds up a hand to cut off Libertus' protest, meeting his eyes. "I don't care. I'm gonna judge your scruffy ass by appearances, just like everyone else in this city, and it's up to you to prove the stereotypes wrong, isn't it?" 

Crowe tilts her head a little, watching Aranea's profile. "You're from the Empire, aren't you." 

"Born and raised in Gralea," Aranea confirms, gaze moving between them one by one. "So I know a thing or two about Insomnians that walk around with their heads up their asses, thinking they can say whatever they want. Some of them are okay, like this one," she bounces Prompto and makes him laugh. "The trick is surviving long enough to either make a place for yourself or realize you don't care." 

They all seem to be taking her words to heart. "What about him?" Nyx asks after a minute, jerking his thumb at Cor because he's an asshole. 

Aranea's lips quirk upward again. "Him? Cor Leonis is a militant hardass that lured me away from Gralea with his rugged good looks and charming growl, and then instead of making a career of the Crownsguard and climbing his way up to Marshal, he got disillusioned and left to be a teacher at some inner city school." She waves a hand, dismissing him. "He's okay, I guess. My current girlfriend is Lucian too, so I guess I have a type." 

Cor buries his face in his hands as Crowe bursts out laughing again. 

"Oh I _like_ you," she grins at Aranea, and Aranea grins back. 

"Feeling's mutual, kid. Let's see about teaching you some things so you don't go down like a sack of bricks the first time you jump to defend the honor of..." she pauses, eyes on Crowe's braids. 

"Galahd," Nyx answers for all of them. 

Aranea nods, still holding Prompto and making a mental note to look some things up on Mooglenet. "Galahd, then. C'mon Prom, you can referee." 

"Yay!" 

Cor trails after them, wondering how much he's going to regret this in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl every time I picture Libertus I just end up with Chris Pratt.
> 
> Also, I'd be happy to take prompts/requests for this 'verse, I only have a loose idea of where it's going. Feel free to poke me over on [my tumblr](http://archangelunmei.tumblr.com).


End file.
